


Loser

by ToxicPineapple



Category: New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Angst, Crying, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, I know my last three fics have been nightmare h/c, I'm in a mood okay, M/M, Nightmares, Oma Kokichi Being Oma Kokichi, Post-Canon, death mentions, virtual reality au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-02
Updated: 2020-07-02
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:29:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25026220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToxicPineapple/pseuds/ToxicPineapple
Summary: One of those cool hands lifts from Kokichi’s cheek, and then yellow light floods Kokichi’s eyes (his eyes were open?) so he screws them shut, turning his face into the hand that still cups his face. He can feel Shuich’s thumb brushing underneath his eye, and it slides against the side of his face, warmer than before, and that’s how Kokichi knows it comes away wet.(How he knows that he’s crying.)“Kokichi,” Shuichi’s voice is softer now, but still urgent, still firm. He used to be so bad at that.---Kokichi has a nightmare five years after the simulation. Who would've thought.
Relationships: Oma Kokichi/Saihara Shuichi
Comments: 14
Kudos: 294





	Loser

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pumpkazin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pumpkazin/gifts).



> happy birthday leila! i love you soooo much ur such a darling :3 it's been a delight roleplaying with you for the past two months, teeheehee. no choice but to stan. thank you for being a good friend and for, before that, being such a loyal reader.
> 
> i think leila has a fic out go read it her writing and general characterisation is just stellar as a whole. hehehe.
> 
> <3

Kokichi wakes up screaming, the smell of blood filling his nose, the taste filling his mouth. It takes him a lot longer than it rightfully should to realise that the taste of blood in his mouth is from a cut on the inside of his cheek, and not the paralysing, full-body pain that’s still sending shivers through him from his nightmare.

…Not from his nightmare. From his memory. It’s a  _ memory.  _ It’s something that  _ happened.  _ If Kokichi closes his eyes (and it doesn’t make much of a difference whether he closes his eyes are not, it’s equally dark in this room either way with the curtains drawn and the sky behind them overcast) he could still be underneath the press, cool metal just inches away from him, the smell of blood on Momota’s jacket and dripping down his own arm, his own back, just as sharp in his nostrils as it was then. He could still be  _ there,  _ dying from the poison, his back and neck aching, cold and scared and not scared he couldn’t be scared he was doing it to end the killing games, to end this vile reality TV show, to save all the kids in the future who would have to do this, Ouma Kokichi wasn’t scared, he couldn’t, he wasn’t--

“Kokichi!”

It’s Shuichi’s voice that shocks Kokichi out of this, whatever it is, a pair of cold, cold hands clasping his face, bringing him to sit upright. He registers, dimly, over the roaring in his ears and the knot in his chest, that Shuichi is  _ here, _ and if Shuichi is here then Kokichi can’t be there, can’t be under the press, and that soothes him, a bit, because that means he’s not-- he’s not there. He’s not bleeding.

It’s still dark, though, Kokichi still can’t  _ see,  _ and on that note he can’t really  _ breathe,  _ either. He still aches all over his body, from the tips of his toes right up to every part of his face, to the inside of his throat, and it’s as though he’s no longer alive under the press but dead under it, and this is just a memory, a fragment. Like that episode of  _ Doctor Who  _ he watched once where the dead could still feel everything that was happening to their body, even after leaving it.

Maybe Kokichi is being cremated, the way that this burns. The only thing that doesn’t make sense is why Shuichi is here.

One of those cool hands lifts from Kokichi’s cheek, and then yellow light floods Kokichi’s eyes (his eyes were open?) so he screws them shut, turning his face into the hand that still cups his face. He can feel Shuich’s thumb brushing underneath his eye, and it slides against the side of his face, warmer than before, and that’s how Kokichi knows it comes away wet.

(How he knows that he’s crying.)

“Kokichi,” Shuichi’s voice is softer now, but still urgent, still firm. He used to be so bad at that. (It’s another reason why Kokichi knows he’s not under the press. Shuichi from back then was only ever firm when he was talking to a murderer. Not that Kokichi doesn’t qualify. But this is a soft kind of firmness. The loving kind.) “It was just a nightmare. It’s okay. You’re okay.”

“A nightmare,” Kokichi cracks an eye open again, and winces at how hoarse his voice came out before peering up at Shuichi. His grey eyes are honey-coloured in the yellow light of the lamp at their bedside. His hair is tousled and he’s blinking slowly, like he just woke up, just sprung out of bed. “Supreme Leaders don’t have nightmares,” Kokichi remarks, his mouth forming the words automatically, and his tone comes out flat, like he doesn’t really believe it, but he still  _ says  _ it, and he doesn’t take it back.

Shuichi smiles, anyway. “Alright. A memory, then,” he says, and he sits on the edge of the bed, the hand he used to turn on the lamp slipping under Kokichi’s shoulders, bringing him to rest on Shuichi’s lap. “It was just a memory, I suspect from the killing game, and it, ah,” he wrinkles his brow a little, “wasn’t real. It wasn’t real. Isn’t real anymore.” His fingers card through Kokichi’s hair; Kokichi shivers and leans into the touch. “That isn’t real anymore.”   
  


“Sure it’s not, I know that,” Kokichi scoffs, averting his gaze. The mock indignance is somewhat… nerfed, Kokichi guesses, by the way he still leans up into the touch on his head, but he has an  _ image  _ to maintain, goddamnit, even now when everything is… yucky. “If it was real, your hand’d be pretty sticky right now, Shu-chan,” and then he lets out a quiet  _ nishishi, _ and Shuichi’s response is a sigh.

He leans down to kiss Kokichi on the forehead. “Was it that kind of dream, then?” he asks, quietly. “With the press? And Momota-kun?”   
  


“Hmmmm. I dunno if I like that question very much!” Kokichi announces, throwing his arms up and around Shuichi’s shoulders, pulling himself up that way. He sits himself in Shuichi’s lap, instead, rather than just laying there like he was, and then touches their foreheads together, smiling real wide. “In fact, I think I’d rather not answer any questions at all! What I reeeaaaally want is some goddamn kisses from my boy. Hard to get those when Harumaki is sticking little arrows in your back!”

“Kokichi,” Shuichi frowns. “It’s alright if you don’t want to talk about it. But I’d rather not act like it never happened.”

“Like  _ what  _ never happened?” Kokichi beams.

Shuichi looks at him for a long moment.

“God, you’re so annoying,” Kokichi pouts, but pulls back a little to slump into Shuichi’s shoulder instead, the lingering chills from his dream overtaking him for a minute. Despite the yellow light, despite the fact Shuichi smells like books and not blood, despite the warmth of the embrace and the fact he’s here, and everything is over, and everything’s okay now, he still-- nnnnn. Kokichi shudders, without meaning to, and buries his face further in the fabric of Shuichi’s t-shirt, screws his eyes tut against the tears that begin to pool in them. Shuichi isn’t the annoying one.  _ Kokichi  _ is the annoying one. Danganronpa was over five years ago. He should be over this by now.

There’s a moment of quiet as Shuichi cards his fingers through Kokichi’s hair again, stroking gently, humming softly. He speaks eventually, though. “Even if it wasn’t really, and even if it’s in the past, and even if you’re alive and we’re okay now,” his voice is gentle, his words delicate and warm, “it doesn’t mean the effects are in the past. And it doesn’t mean you have to stop being affected by it, accordingly. It’s a terrible thing that happened.”

“I think five years is a pretty good amount of time to get over it, actually,” Kokichi remarks, flatly, into Shuichi’s shirt. “I think you hafta be a preeetty big loser to not be over shitty things after five years.”

“Ah, I guess I’m a loser, then,” Shuichi says, idly, his hand not pausing in Kokichi’s hair.

“Of course you are, Shu-chan,” Kokichi rolls his eyes, even though they’re closed, even though Shuichi can’t see it. “There was no  _ arguing  _ that. You’re a loser for way better reasons than that!” Shuichi chuckles, and Kokichi feels it vibrating against his chest, feels himself warm up at the sound, despite everything he’s saying, despite the fact that he feels so cold. “I meeeaan, what kinda loser just sits here holding a pancake after a nightmare?”

“Actually,” Shuichi shifts his head, and Kokichi shivers at the feeling of lips on his neck, “I don’t think that that makes me a loser at all. If anything, I’d be a lose for  _ not  _ doing this.” Kokichi can hear the smile in his voice. “It would take a pretty big loser not to be in love with you, Kokichi.”

Ahh. Fuck. Kokichi doesn’t really have a good response to that. Stupid dummy Shuichi and his sweet words. Kokichi lets out a quiet groan, his eyes moistening again, and mumbles, “You’re a real moron, Shumai,” before burrowing himself further into Shuichi’s shirt, squeezing him tight, and letting the moment be absorbed in silence.

**Author's Note:**

> yeah babey, i'm back. kokichi ouma hiatus is OVER


End file.
